


Lock Up

by Sonora



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Character Death, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-29
Updated: 2015-10-29
Packaged: 2018-04-28 18:42:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5101574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sonora/pseuds/Sonora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chuck falls in love with Herc.  That's his first mistake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lock Up

**Author's Note:**

> So my life is a disaster zone and I owe updates on other stuff, but have some vampire Hansens.

The worst part about it? Chuck can't get the taste of Herc's blood out of his teeth.

Back on the concrete wall, head bowed, eyes screwed shut, Chuck desperately tries to keep the tears at bay. He knows the other guys in the cell here have scooted as far away from him as possible. Hardly a surprise, considering how much of Herc's life blood he has on him. Fucking idiot cops, tearing him away before he could properly finish the job. He's practically soaked in the stuff, the warmth of it long faded to a slimy coldness.

The scent of comfort still lingers though. The scent of home.

A few tears won't make much of a difference in all that mess, yet he can't let himself do that.

Herc's dead, the one thing that might have brought him back denied to him now. 

Chuck's been alone for almost a century; he chose that path, once it became clear his own sire, Pentecost, saw him as little more than a pretty bauble for his precious Mako. What's ninety, ninety-five, years of loneliness compared to those four months with Herc, however glorious they were?

No, humans die, Herc's died, and Chuck doesn't need anyone.

 _Herc was going to die anyway,_ Chuck tries to tell himself, ignoring the heartbeats of the guys stuck in lock-up with him, the memory of screeching tires and the high-impact crumpling of metal too loud for him to think about anything else. _That's why you told him, why you offered it. You warned him it might not work, but remember? He said..._

"He always did drive that bike too fuckin' fast," Chuck mutters to himself, and grinds a dark-stained palm into his forehead. 

His poor Herc. His sweet, beautiful, broken, PTSD-ridden Herc. 

But it's not his fault that Herc bled out on the shoulder of a Sydney street, bones shattered and neck broken, barely more than a mouthful of Chuck's own blood in his mouth before patrol showed up. Not Chuck's fault that Herc was so damn irresistible, soul crying out with an unquenchable grief from the first moment he set foot in Chuck's bar, grief over killing too many people in the desert, wife divorcing him a year ago, kids vanished back up to wherever the fuck it is she took them. Chuck isn't responsible for putting that first syringe of heroin in Herc's arm, even if he is the one who pulled the last one out, promising he could take the pain away. It certainly wasn't Chuck's doing, Herc whispering to him the quiet of morning about a month ago, _I love you my boy, don't go today, I'll take care of you_...

Who's he kidding?

He's such an idiot. Falling in love with a human. _Such_ an idiot.

Nothing's ever going to be okay again. Herc's... 

Fuck Herc. He shouldn't have been driving that fast in the first place. Should have known better. The TBI from that time when his chopper got hit by an RPG did more damage than he was willing to admit, slowed his reaction speed, Chuck had smelled it on him, warned him...

"Did you hear that?"

One of the other blokes in the cell; Chuck pricks his ears. Human hearing might not be able to distinguish the subtle sound of uncertain footsteps on the precinct's stone foyer floor, but they could certainly pick up the doors slamming open.

The sound of glass shattering.

Gunfire.

Chuck sits up, ramrod straight, staring out even as everyone around him starts yelling. Bullets won't kill him, of course, won't leave so much as a flesh wound five minutes after they've hit, but the question of who's doing the firing, why, at whom...

It only lasts a moment. Fifty seconds, maybe less. And then the cell block door is banging open, the wild fragrance of mass slaughter swirling into the stale air.

Chuck stands, pulled by something he doesn't quite understand. Drawn forward, he comes to the bars, looping his hands through to the other side, elbows resting on the crosspiece. Everyone's fallen silent behind him.

Fuck them.

It's...

"Hello, my boy."

If Chuck could faint from shock, like the girls used to do when his heart still beat, he would. Instead, he forces himself to keep his composure, tries not to react.

It's Herc. But not the Herc he remembers. His human would never be standing in front of him smelling of swift death, nor would he smile about it. Fireworks used to terrify his human, the sound of a car backfiring enough to send him into flashbacks so intense, it took Chuck hours to coax him back. His human...

But then, Chuck killed his human.

He doesn't know who this is.

He should have realized.

"Who says I am?" he demands, baring his fangs. "I belong to nobody."

Herc - or this version of Herc, at least - laughs, and dangles the keys to the cage. "Right now, I'd say I'm the one in control, wouldn't you agree?"

Chuck sucks air he doesn't need, helpless to hide the rush of arousal that sends through him. Herc can probably smell it; he does, from the way his smile is changing. That was one thing Pentecost taught Chuck. The value of submission. Of being made to. Pentecost always used to say, _you will come to know its pleasure soon enough._

He never understood that. Never felt it, no matter how much he wanted to or how good a childe he was. Chuck always chafed at the idea of surrendering himself. Never... not until this moment. Staring at the monster he's made of his human lover.

But then, maybe this is who Herc was all along. Maybe this is who Chuck so desperately longed for.

"I'm sorry," he still says, the word leaving his mouth unbidden, the first time since he left Pentecost. Chuck has no idea why it comes out now. "Herc, I'm..."

"I'm not, beautiful boy," Herc replies, still smiling, and comes closer, reaching through the bars to stroke Chuck's cheek. "You saved me, Chuck. Let me do the same for you."

"But you..."

"Don't you know? Nothing in this world could keep me from you. Nothing."

Chuck's never understood the appeal of being a vampire.

But he can't deny what this is doing to him, seeing Herc like this, all that injury and guilt and regret stripped away. Nothing but the warrior left. Covered in the blood of his enemies. The ones who tried to take his boy away from him.

Chuck bites his cheek, blood welling into his mouth.

Nods.

And Herc sets him free.


End file.
